


next year

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Introspection, POV Phil Coulson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 12:54:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13190526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: Written for #CousyWinter at johnsonandcoulsonPrompt: "Christmas in a safehouse"





	next year

“This is really bad wine,” Daisy says, in a low snorty voice, just as she sees Coulson make a face of disgust across the table. “Don’t get me wrong, the soup was good-”

He shrugs.

“It was okay considering what I had to work with.”

“It was good,” she insists, her fingers brushing the inside of his wrist, skimming really, an unnecessarily shy touch. “But the wine…”

Coulson smiles. “Perhaps this will teach us to just pick up anything we find in a safehouse.” He takes the bottle in his hand, eyeing the label suspiciously. Whichever agent brought this as supplies back in the day wasn’t a wine person. “I wonder how long it’s been here…”

“Not that we had much choice in the matter,” Daisy comments, glancing around the place, her healing shoulder and outside, the constant snow.

“Yeah…” Coulson looks out at the landscape as well, tries not to let it bring him down.

Daisy chuckles. He turns to her.

“Good thing is it takes the pressure off our first Christmas together,” she says.

He admits he was a bit anxious about it too. It’s not even been three weeks since the nature of their relationship changed, and though Coulson’s nature tends to corniness on these events he didn’t exactly know what the protocol should be. Especially considering no one else around them knows what has happened between them - it’s not like he could have easily proposed private celebrations and lavish presents. He is not sure Daisy would have liked any of that.

He takes her hand in his (it’s strange, that he can do that without any life or death reason for the gesture).

“Having second thoughts?” he asks.

“Maybe,” Daisy says, but she’s smiling and leaning towards him so Coulson doesn’t worry too much. “Let me think about it some more…”

She grabs the neck of his shirt and gently tugs him towards her, kissing him gently on the mouth.

“Nope, still a good idea,” she says.

She kisses him again.

The terrible wine doesn’t taste half as bad on her lips.

They stay in silence for a moment, not kissing, but their faces close together, breathing quietly in sync. They listen to the snow turns to rain turns to loud rain.

Coulson drops his head and drops a kiss, sentimentally, over Daisy’s shoulder bandage.

“Feels better now?” he asks.

She nods.

“It’s fine, stop fussing,” Daisy jokes.

He joke-pouts. He likes fussing.

He pours another drink. It’s not like they have anything better to drink, and the warmth from the humble dinner is already beginning to fade.

“Still,” he comments, apologetic. “I wish we could have had a more Christmassy Christmas Eve.”

He means he wishes he could have given Daisy a better Christmas Eve. She doesn’t talk about it, but he doesn’t suppose she’s had many good ones in her life. And at least none since he recruited her for SHIELD. And now that they’re… now that _they are_ , he feels extra responsibility about it. He wonders if that’s what love is - he feels reluctant to use the word, when whatever he has felt for Daisy since he met her has been so remarkable different to anything he’s felt for anyone else in his life. He wonders if it’s trying to make up for whatever sadness there’s in the other person’s life prior to knowing them. He likes that definition, it comes pretty close to what he feels.

Daisy shakes her head.

“It’s not your fault. Something to look forward to next year,” she declares.

“You think we’ll be here next year?” Coulson can’t help but ask.

She raises an inquisitive eyebrow. Her eyebrows are ever so expressive, so precise in their language, Coulson thinks he’d be content to have conversations just with them, if it weren’t for the fact that he’d miss her voice - but he is drifting into corny territory again.

“What do you mean by _here_?” Daisy asks, in synch with her eyebrows. “You mean here in this safehouse, here together or… here alive?”

He smiles. Daisy has spent so much of her life carefully picking her words to the very last syllable, out of survival instinct, that it’s normal she would like to request clarifications like this, and Coulson hope that means she feels confident to do so with him.

“A bit of the three, I guess.”

“Well, world crisis permitting I hope we’d be somewhere nicer, and world crisis permitting I hope we’ll be alive. As for the other thing… if I didn’t believe this was for the long haul I wouldn’t…”

She hesitates to reminisce, even though the event is quite recent. Maybe because of that.

“...kissed me in your office?” Coulson finishes it for her.

She makes an embarrassed grimace.

“I was still thinking about it as _your office_ , for the record, I wasn’t thinking of the seven million rules I was breaking at the moment.”

“It’s fine,” Coulson says, feeling the pull of sentimentality, or wine. “I’ve broken many rules for you over the years.”

Daisy smiles.

“This wine is not that bad after all,” she comments.

“No, it’s perfect,” he agrees.

He’s shy to make the first move - probably something to work on, but it’s only been a couple of weeks and there’s too much history between them, too many hang ups he has to figure out on his own, that’s not on Daisy - but he leans on his chair, swaying towards her.

Daisy wraps him in her arms, carefully, like she’s warming up some freezing animal she found in the woods. Coulson likes that. It makes her feel safe. He had guessed it had to be the other way around. All his life… well, he didn’t know he was supposed to feel like that too.

The rain and wind against the tree branches don’t sound monotonous, it has an almost musical effect. Daisy runs her fingers through his hair.

“Maybe this is not very Christmassy,” she says, her mouth almost pressed to Coulson’s forehead. “But I don’t know how we’re going to top it next year.”

Her voice sounds distracted, thought-like, a bit drunk.

“You’ve read my mind,” Coulson agrees.

He knows what she means, but it’s still a bit melancholy. A part of him still thinks Daisy deserves better, even if she’s happy with this. Daisy can be happy with a lot of things that are less than she deserves, that doesn’t mean it’s right.

Pressed against her Coulson feels her vibrate with soundless laughter.

“But I know you,” she adds joyfully. “You’re going to _try_.”

Coulson chuckles, thinking: you’re reading more than just my mind.


End file.
